The Third Claw of God

by Adam-Troy Castro

  Two minutes from the end of the flight, over a region of green hills dotted here and there with white patches from a recent snowfall, we started seeing small groups of houses, which Jelaine identified as the homes of workers assigned to Main Estate but not senior enough to live on the grounds. She cut our speed and lowered our altitude to just above the treetop level as we drew closer, so she could point out more areas of interest: a hill taller than most that she identified as camouflaged servants’ quarters, gardens, a personal zoo, and stables for horses of not only the terrestrial variety but, she said, several alien and engineered variants from the gigantic to the winged. I spotted one lumbering gray creature, with a nose like some kind of serpent, wandering around sans human supervision. We were well past it and within sight of the mansion itself before it occurred to me that I had just seen my first elephant.

  Now, that’s just showing off. And it was. That’s exactly what it was. That’s exactly what Jelaine was doing.

  And it was working too. From time to time I found myself beaming. I even laughed once or twice at jokes she made. I think I may have made one of my own, though that was a genuine stretch and any laughter coming from her might have been politeness on her part.

  It didn’t matter.

  What mattered was how I felt.

  I belonged here.

  I won’t describe my first sight of the mansion itself, with its ten wings and its hundreds of windows and the two rows of towering spear-shaped trees providing a sort of arboreal honor guard for any visitor intent on approaching the colossal front doors on foot. It was a castle, pure and simple, and every brick in the entire edifice was a tribute to the magnificence of any who dwelled within. Nor will I describe the bowing and scraping of the dozens of servants who had come out to greet us—I actually do mean us, as their awe was directed not just at Jelaine but at me as well, the most discomfiting of the sensations this day had shown me yet—as we approached those doors and they drew open to reveal a marbled hall that disgorged three tiny figures I recognized as Hans, Philip, and Jason Bettelhine, all three grinning at us as if we’d been missing and presumed dead for years.

  Hans strode forward, ahead of the two brothers, and bowed as he grasped my hand in both of his. “Andrea. This is a historic moment. Your first visit to the great house.”

  “A big house, anyway.”

  He chuckled at that. “I was warned about your brutal honesty. I must confess that I’ve been looking forward to seeing it in action.”

  Philip rubbed his jaw. “It’s an acquired taste, Father—Hello, Andrea. I suppose I may call you that now, and not Counselor?”

  I wasn’t sure at the moment whether anybody would call me Counselor ever again. “That’s…” What was it? All right? I might have been weakening from the assault of Jelaine Bettelhine’s charm, but did that mean I had to like Philip as well? “That’s fine.”

  Hans Bettelhine took the moment’s hesitation as reticence. “I know how overwhelming this has been, Andrea. And I understand that you would have mixed feelings about your lineage, given your vocal sentiments about our family’s history. I can only assure you that I intend to make this a brand-new day, and that I’ll live to hear you tell me that you don’t regret walking through this door with an open mind.” He offered his arm. “Will you sit next to me? I look forward to telling you everything I remember about your mother’s youth.”

  Surprising myself, I took him up on it. “All right.”

  And that’s how it would have gone, for the rest of the night. In another few minutes I would have been taken to a luxurious dining room and treated to the best meal the best chefs on Xana could provide. I would have been told again how important I was and how loved I could be and all the opportunities that life as a Bettelhine could provide. I would have been tempted and I would have surrendered.

  It would have been easy.

  Juje help me. I wanted it.

  But as the two of us, Hans Bettelhine and his prodigal niece, walked arm-in-arm through the door, following the laughing figures of Jason and his no-longer estranged brother, Philip…as we entered the vast entrance hall with its chandelier larger than some entire apartment blocks I’ve lived in and its tapestries so huge that the historical landscapes depicted there may have been larger than life-size…as the two rows of uniformed servants positioned along both sides of the wall prevented us, their masters, from ever walking more than five paces without assurance that they would always be available to see to our every need…

  …as we walked past all that, heading toward another pair of opulent doors, which a pair of white-gloved servants were already opening to reveal a formal dining room with a roaring fireplace at the distant end…

  …as Hans Bettelhine asked me solicitous questions about my recovery and I said I was fine and Jelaine, walking right behind us, emitted a saucy laugh about what a bad patient I’d been…

  …I found myself thinking with more clarity than I’d felt since my last moments on the Royal Carriage.

  The AIsource’s warning and Dejah Shapiro’s warning and the last message of the Porrinyards combined with my own continuing certainty that my welcome back into the bosom of my family was too easy, too convenient, too not-what-should-have-happened when Jason and Jelaine asked their father to bring a relative of my controversial reputation back into the fold.

  Maybe if he’d been another man, ruling another family. But not a family with a history of exiling its own. Not this family. Not unless.

  And then I didn’t have time for unless because even as my thoughts sped up, time itself slowed down to compensate. I saw Philip, who was with Jason, about to pass through the dining room doors just five paces ahead of us, suddenly turn to his right and look not at his brother but over his brother’s head, the filial smile on his handsome face replaced by a look half resolve and half resignation.

  I might have missed it any other time. But I caught it then.

  And I saw what he was looking at, the one steward who had stepped out of line and was approaching on a course and speed designed to intercept Jason Bettelhine.

  The steward wore the impassive, emotionless expression of any servant trained to subsume his own personality beneath a façade of yes sirs and no sirs. And he was making eye contact with Philip and giving him the nod of a man who had just received confirmation that the time was now.

  He reached behind that ridiculous red sash and pulled out a black disk of a kind I’d already seen twice before.

  I drew back and elbowed Hans in the side, shouting, “Watch out!”

  The old man doubled over with a moan of pain and betrayal, releasing my arm and freeing me to launch myself at Jason’s back.

  Jason, who must have seen my sudden move through Jelaine’s eyes, whirled just in time to register his father’s impact with the floor. He didn’t see the white-suited servant extending the Claw of God toward his back, not immediately, but Jelaine’s perspective helped him with that too. An instant before the weapon would have made contact he doubled over, spun, and drove a fist into the servant’s ribs. The would-be assassin stumbled back a step and against the wall, an ally that prevented him from falling over. He swung again with the Claw of God, driven by panic and reflex to treat it as a slashing weapon instead of one that only needed to make contact. Jason backed away from the swing only to trip over Philip’s outstretched leg and go down, hard.

  I would have helped Jason, but instinct told me that if there was an assassin targeting Jason there had to be one targeting Jelaine and likely one going after me as well. So I whirled in time to catch a tableau that included a battalion of servants rushing to help us from all sides and Jelaine screaming at them to stay away. Their help would be worse than useless if that mass rush to help their employers hid the charge of further assassins, who planned to take advantage of the chaos to plant Claws of their own.

  That’s when another of the servants took me down.

  It was a very professional tackle, taking me in the midsection and lifting m
e all the way off my feet before driving me to my back several paces away. I thought I was dead before I looked into the desperate eyes of the young man trying to pin me and saw at once that this was no assassin, just a servant who had seen me elbow Hans Bettelhine and decided that I had to be part of whatever was happening.

  I used a well-placed knee to commend him for his dedication and rolled away, getting up only when I thought I was free of the Bettelhine Family’s well-meaning defenders. A quick overview of the chaos around me revealed the assassin who had gone over Jason now on top of him and trying to press the Claw of God against his chest.

  Philip seized the assassin’s wrist again and added his own strength to the fight.

  I might have been awed by this show of filial devotion had my angle not permitted me the observation that he was doing more to drive the Claw toward his brother’s chest than assist his brother in keeping it away.

  Another servant who either saw what was happening or believed it his duty to keep the eldest Bettelhine out of danger grabbed Philip by both arms and hurled him away, an act that threw off the assassin’s balance as well and lent the embattled Jason a few added seconds of life.

  I whirled again and saw a quartet of guards trying to drag Jelaine away from the struggle. Another servant, producing yet another Claw of God advanced on her while she was pinned. She spun his head around with a high kick to the underside of the jaw. I think it might have killed him, but I didn’t have the time to tell for sure because that’s when I caught a flash of movement at the corner of my eye and knew it meant that this time I was next for real.

  I swept the air around me with a kick not quite as elegant as Jelaine’s, connecting with nothing but driving my own assassin back a step and giving me a chance to face her. She was a snub-nosed, chubby-cheeked, frizzy-haired creature with freckled skin and no expression at all. She drew back her own Claw of God and charged, hoping that sheer determination would manage what stealth had failed to do.

  By the time she was finished with her jab I was alongside it, grabbing her by both wrist and neck and using her momentum against her. It was the same move I’d used during the previous attack on me up at Layabout, except that the assassin I’d faced then had been bare-handed and harmless and the assassin whose charge I had now redirected was wielding a deadly weapon that preceded both of us as I drove us forward.

  Philip Bettelhine turned toward us just in time to see the Claw of God headed right toward him and screamed like a little girl.

  I might have let it strike him if not for that.

  My time with the Porrinyards had mellowed me, after all.

  So I let go of the off-balance assassin and let her fall down, using the heel of my shoe to shatter the hand bearing the Claw. I didn’t let her scream bother me. Nor did I worry any more about Jelaine, who had wrested herself free of her would-be protectors, ordered them to back off, and retrieved the Claw of her own unmoving assailant.

  Jason, his clothing torn and his nose bloodied, stood alive and well as servants dragged away the sole traitor who had gone after him. He saw me looking at him and gave me a grim nod of satisfaction. From somewhere not far away I heard the sound of pounding feet: security, arriving with their usual efficiency now that the war was over.

  Jelaine called to me. “Andrea? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine!” I shouted.

  I did not ask how she was, or how Jason was, because I already knew more than I’d wanted to know.

  I’d figured out the missing element of the plan that had propelled Jason and Jelaine to power.

  Hans Bettelhine remained on the ground where I’d dropped him, hugging himself, unable to muster the will he needed to realize that the crisis was over. It could have been because I’d hit him hard, or because he was an old man and the violence in his home had been a major shock for him. But then Jelaine drifted to his side and knelt before him, her beautiful features shining with the special kind of love that is only natural to find in a loyal daughter. I saw her start whispering to him.

  Philip saw the emotions playing across my features, picked up on what I’d realized, and sensed the inner war I was fighting with myself over it. The despair that had stained his features for the last few seconds now turned nasty as he confronted me, his voice low and meant for me alone. “You honestly didn’t know the worst of it until now, did you, Andrea?”

  “No,” I said, looking at Jason and Jelaine. “Not until just before the attack.”

  “That was my own poor judgment. I thought you were in on it, just like that sanctimonious holy man had been. At the very least I thought that somebody who hated the Family business as much as you claimed to would certainly approve once you found out.”

  I averted my eyes. “Shut up.”

  “Just in case you’re wondering, it really was only Vernon Wethers up there. I was out of the loop. But then we all returned to Xana and the two freaks who used to be my brother and sister, who knew how much Vernon had succeeded in compromising them in my eyes, tried to enlist me. They actually thought I’d approve of what they’ve done, to advance as far as they have. They didn’t realize that the very thought turned my stomach, that I’d see what they’ve done to Father as family mind-raping family. They didn’t realize that I’d have to do something, no matter how half-assed and last-minute and desperate, to stop them.”

  “And the Claws of God?”

  “My own clumsy attempt to make this look like some of Vernon’s leftover machinations. I figured that doing it somewhere with plenty of witnesses would lead people to all the right conclusions. But I shouldn’t have. I should have done the simple thing and ordered up a bomb. Or somebody to strangle my dear, traitorous brother and sister in their sleep. But no,” he said, with palpable self-disgust. “I had to be fancy.”

  Just a few short meters away, Hans Bettelhine flashed the relief of any slave happy to be fed his instructions. He nodded at his loving daughter, the female half of the shared mind who commanded him and had steered his change of heart in so many things and, with her assistance, rose to continue giving his enthusiastic blessing to their plans for the Family business. I knew, just looking at him, that he would have agreed to anything they suggested, that their opinions would now always be his.

  It was the only way Jason and Jelaine could have made their coup work. No wonder they’d had such success. They’d followed the Khaajiir’s thesis and, by co-opting Dina Pearlman or one of the other techs working for her, seized the one mind capable of helping them to enact the changes they wanted.

  I didn’t know how they’d done it, what risks they’d taken getting their father alone.

  I couldn’t argue with the results. The Bettelhine Family was changing course.

  But was it worth the price?

  Another whispered suggestion from Jelaine, and Hans Bettelhine gave me a wave. He started toward me, the prodigal niece whose quick thinking had removed him from the line of fire.

  Philip had only a few seconds left, but he got it all in. “I’ll get Internal Exile. The useful part of my life’s over. But what about you, Andrea? How far are you willing to go? If you stay here will it be because you think the ends justify the means, or because all those overwrought principles of yours can be bought with a little money and power?”

  Now Jason was approaching, too, his expression wary as he focused on me and on Philip in turn.

  The voice of the AIsource rumbled in my head. The choice is yours, Counselor.

  F or me it was as if every atom in the universe had ceased moving, leaving me the sole animate object in a tableau of statues.

  This is it?

  This is it. This is the moment that determines the future we talked about. This is the moment that decides whether a race lives or dies, and whether humanity will have to pay a price for its genocide.

  But you haven’t given me anything!

  We have given you as much as the Rules of Engagement permit. We have provided you with two clear alternative futures: one where you
remain on Xana and throw your considerable talents behind what Jason and Jelaine are doing, and one where you remain apart and independent and free to act elsewhere even if that means opposing them. In one future, your active participation helps to speed their new vision of the Bettelhine Corporation; in the other, they struggle on without your counsel and need additional time to consolidate power. In one future billions die, a major sentient race meets extinction, and humanity pays a devastating price. In the other, billions die, but the targeted race survives, hope is preserved and, though Mankind suffers, a better future awaits after the last shots are fired. One of these alternatives benefits us, the other our enemies. One will provide us the release we crave and thus free the organic intelligences of our interference; the other will deny us our ending. You will have reason to suspect, within a very few months, whether you made the correct decision. You will be at the center of those events. But first you must determine that future with the choice you make now.

  Th-that’s crazy! How the fuck am I supposed to know, with both sides whispering in my ears?

  You don’t. You’re not clairvoyant. We can only advise that in this particular case the choice that gives humanity a fighting chance is the same as the choice that’s right for you.

  And how am I supposed to know that?

  It’s the only guideline you’ll have. Good luck, Counselor.

  Silence.

  I wanted to scream at them. Had there ever been a moment when I could have torn their hidden hardware apart with my bare hands, that was it. I hated them as much as I’d ever hated anything, and I’m a goddamned talented hater.